


Tell Me About Him

by ojangel



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gay Richie Tozier, Grief/Mourning, I Love Patricia Blum Uris, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ojangel/pseuds/ojangel
Summary: Richie grieves. He finds a kindred spirit in a certain Patricia Uris.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Patricia Blum Uris
Comments: 5
Kudos: 83





	Tell Me About Him

_Who will love you?_

_Who will fight?_

_Who will fall far behind?_

_Come on skinny love_

//

Richie watches Patty from afar, noticing the way she puts on a brave face when she knows someone is looking but crumbles as they turn their back. He thinks he understands.

It’s been three days since Eddie died and four since Stan. Richie hasn’t slept much, and never bothered going back to LA. There’s nothing for him there, never really was. The others have already gone back to their homes— having never been invited to the funerals, but Richie had reached out. He’d needed to, for mourning was the closest he would ever get to the two again. So, here he is. Patty had only given him a wave when he arrived, but Richie wanted to talk to her.

He wanders over as people begin leaving for the afterparty. Not many people had attended, just some of Stan’s work friends and family. They had no kids. Richie didn’t expect it to be crowded— Stan had always been a little lonely, a little reserved. He did have some friends, and a wife, though. That’s all that matters.

“Your speech was lovely,” Richie says, quiet, so as not to spook her. She smiles up at him, silent, a melancholy beauty about her. “Could we talk?”

Patty nods and takes the arm that Richie has offered her. They walk around for a little, until Richie finally speaks. “Did he ever tell you about his Bar Mitzvah?”

“He didn’t tell much about his childhood,” she explains, no bitterness in her tone. They go and sit at a nearby bench. “Would you... I mean, could you tell me about him? How he was a kid, I mean?”

“Of course,” Richie says. “He was so loving. With his old soul and bird books, Stan seemed the lamest out of the lot of us. We would make fun of him for it, you know? I think he actually quite liked the teasing, though. Maybe it made him feel younger than everyone else in Derry treated him. That’s what I hope anyway, cause none of us actually ever found him weird. He was a loser, and that was the best part about him.”

She tangles their fingers together. Richie appreciates the gesture and the fact that she doesn’t point out the wetness on his cheeks. “When we were thirteen, our friend group got into... a, um, a fight. Nothing serious, not really. But kids, they’re rather dramatic, aren’t they? So- so at his Bar Mitzvah, I was the only one to go, he made this whole speech about not feeling any different now that he’s officially a man or whatever. There was quite a lot of swearing, too.”

This makes her laugh, a small huff that seems huge between them. “Afterwards we met up and he was the happiest I’d ever seen him. His mood had made it seem like anything in the world was possible.”

“I think I understand,” Patty whispers. “He got like that sometimes, even over the littlest things. The night we got married, he told his parents to piss off cause they were ruining the night with their... ahem, racist lectures. They never thought I was Jewish enough for their little Stanley. But he stood up to them, and it was beautiful. I was only watching, but I felt like I could get away with just about anything.”

They swap more stories over the next hour. Richie shares more tears and laughs with her than he has with any of the other losers in the past few days, and it's nice. Familiar, almost, in a bittersweet sort of way. By the end of their chat, he knows Stan got the best life out of all of them. He deserved it the most, too.

Richie offers to drive her to the party, but she declines. He asks to drive her home, and she agrees. They listen to sad music in the car, and Patty invites him in for a drink after.

The house is so incredibly Stan it almost makes him cry again. There’s a puzzle on the coffee table, and bird photographs strung across the TV. Dishes fill up the kitchen sink, and Richie aches when he sees a pair of mugs with _Mr_ and _Mrs_ on them. He guesses Patty doesn’t want to clean them, rid them of Stan’s touch, and this Richie understands. He got himself a new pair of glasses after It, because of the blood that still stains his old pair. The losers had looked at him in pity when they found out, but Richie couldn’t just get rid of the last of Eddie like that. Patty can’t with Stan either, it seems.

She pours them both some wine before folding herself up on the couch. Richie sits beside her, close enough to he comforting, and they drink in silence.

Eventually, Patty bursts, “It was my fault.”

“Sorry?”

“I should have noticed. Stan never takes baths in the evenings, and if he does he’ll take up a drink with him. Th- that day, he never did. Just went up and never came back down.”

“Good God, Patty, it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

“I could’ve. I _should’ve_.”

Richie shakes his head and shuffles closer to her. She seems so small like this, shoulders shaking and tears thick on her face. “How were you to guess? He wouldn’t have wanted you to know.”

This just makes Patty cry harder. After a moment of hesitance, Richie wraps her up into a hug. “Don’t blame yourself, don’t.”

Her whimpers fill the room for a long time. Richie never grows bored, though, rocking the two of them with a hand rubbing absently on her back. Patty sniffles for a bit, and finally pulls away. Her eyes are red, and snot drips from her nose. “Stanley was in love with you. He would never blame you, I promise.”

 _Not_ _like_ _Eddie_ , something whispers, unbidden. Richie squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’m so sorry about this. You have been so kind to me, Rich,” Patty says, eyes wide and still shining with fresh tears. “Can you—“ she hiccups, “—distract me? Tell me about yourself. Please.”

Richie frowns. “I’m nothing interesting, but alright. I’m a comedian, but I don’t write any of my jokes. When I’m getting too loud, my friends will say ‘beep-beep’ to shut me up. My favourite food is probably pineapple pizza, and I live like a five-year-old. Somebody once called me pathetic, and I agreed with him.”

“What a life you live,” she giggles. “But what about _you_? The real you. What are your actual interests? Do you have a wife?”

“Oh, uh, no wife for me,” Richie says. And before he can chicken out, he adds, “I’m gay, but no husband, either.”

“No one? Not even a bedmate or anything?”

“You are so much like Stan. Who the hell says ‘bedmate’?” Richie says absently. She doesn’t start crying again, luckily, just smiles a little. “But no. I mean, almost. But he- he’s not... He’s not with us, anymore.”

Patty rests her head against his chest. “I’m sorry. Tell me about him.”

Richie thinks. This woman has been nothing but kind in her grief, and she is a kindred spirit to him. He’s sure she would’ve become a honorary loser, had she been given the chance. Eddie would’ve liked her, too. “He was perfect. He’s my best friend, my soulmate.”

 _When_ _did_ _I_ _get_ _so_ _sappy_?

“He taught me most of the swear words I know, actually. You wouldn’t think it, what with the way he looks and how I look, but it’s true. What he lacked in height, he made up for in attitude. Sometimes, he’d tell me I was the least funny person he’d ever met, right after laughing for five minutes at something I said.”

“What was his name?”

“Eddie Kaspbrak.”

She goes quiet, and suddenly stands up Richie’s eyebrows furrow. “Eddie Kaspbrak, you said?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Wait here.”

Patty disappears. Richie shoves his face into hands, loss running through him when faced with loneliness again. She comes back a minute later, with a stack of letters in her arms. “Come here. Look at this. I found them after I— after I found Stan. He’d left them on our bed.”

Richie grabs the one at the top of the pile. It’s got _Mike_ _Hanlon_ written at the top. “How... how many are there?”

“Six. Here, this is your one.”

He takes it from her, slowly, and unfolds the paper with shaking hands. Stan’s handwriting is as neat as it had been a kid, just a little more curly. 

_Dear losers,_ it read _, I know how it looks, but this is not a suicide note..._

“Oh, my God,” Richie says. He goes through it carefully— tearing up at the ‘be proud’ bit— before grabbing Eddie’s from the pile. He skips to the bottom and curses when he sees the matching note there. _Tell_ _him_! _Tell_ _him_!!

Stan had always been too observant for his own good, and even in his death he had... he’d supported them. Christ.

“Stanley always kept secrets,” Patty suddenly says, hand wrapping around his wrist. “I never resented him for it, but I disliked it all the same. No one should have to live without honesty.”

“I wanted to tell him,” Richie confesses. “I was going to, but then he- he fucking—“

Patty pulls him into a hug, shushing him without a touch of discomfort. Richie cries for a long while.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i miss my best friend so uh,,,,, angst?


End file.
